


Like Dropped Puffapod Beans

by allthebros



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Herbology, Kissing, M/M, Summer, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebros/pseuds/allthebros
Summary: Jonny was excited for his first year as Hogwarts' new herbology teacher... and doubly so since it meant being around Patrick again.





	Like Dropped Puffapod Beans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sorrylatenew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrylatenew/gifts).



> written for the [Blackhawks Summer Fic Fest 2017](http://coffeekristin.tumblr.com/post/161101119308/blackhawks-summer-fic-fest-2017). Prompt chosen: "Kiss me."
> 
> Huge thanks to sorrylatenew for brainstorming with me and Potter-picking this because she's a giant Potter nerd, and for geeking out with me over out love of hufflepuff!Jonny and gryffindor!Patrick. AND for the beta.  
> And a giant thanks again to kaneoodle for going over the fic as well and fixing my horrible punctuation.

 

 

 

 

The puffapods were coming along nicely. 

Jonny wiped the sweat off his forehead with a dirty hand, turned his cap around backwards to see better. 

The greenhouse was sweltering under the bright August sun. They’d been getting a series of hot, sunny days with almost no rain—deeply unusual even at this time of year. He’d had to resist sending smug owls to his more sceptical ex-colleagues at the Ministry about it on several occasions. 

He dug his fingers in one of the puffapods’ pots and lifted the plant gently—the bulbous pod now as big as his palm—and set it on one of the trays beside him, to be transplanted later. By the time the school year started, they’d be big enough for Jonny to be able to teach the students how to harvest the beans. 

He wiped the soil off his hands onto his shorts and grabbed his wand from his back pocket, striking ‘puffapod’ off the list he’d tacked to the wall with a flick of his wrist. Next: asphodel seeding pots for the first years.

Sweat ran down his spine, his tank top clinging to his back. The air was thick and humid, sticking to his skin, smelling of earth and water and of green things growing. He was a mess, but he hadn’t been this happy in years.

“Every time you come back from visiting your family, you look like those Americans in the tellies,” a familiar Irish-accented voice said from the greenhouse entrance. “The ones who party too much and make questionable choices.” 

Jonny ignored him, focusing onthe fanged geranium he’d planted earlier in the summer. It was simply refusing to come out. He tapped the pot lightly with the tip of his wand, frowning, then gave up and turned towards Patrick.

“Alright, first,” he said, holding a finger up, “you’re one to talk. I’d bet 10 galleons that you still have a stash of firewhiskey. 

“Only a small one.”

“Second, you’ve been watching telly?”

Patrick shrugged with a smile, coming in closer and leaning on the table closest to Jonny. “When I was in Venezuela.”

“Remind me to find better movies for you to watch, but third—” Jonny leaned forward and poked Patrick on the shoulder, making him laugh and rub at the spot. “—and most importantly, how many times do I have to tell you, I’m Canadian.”

“You might want to let that posh English accent know.”

Jonny sighed and looked to the glass-ceiling. “This is sixth year all over again.”

Patrick laughed, and Jonny couldn’t help but smile at him. It was good, this, seeing Patrick again. Felt a little like old times and yet completely different as well. 

“Bloody hell,” Patrick tugged at his robe. “How can you stand being in here?”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Mate, you’re slowly being cooked and you don’t even realise.”

Patrick’s hair was already sticking to his temples, his face red. The scar that covered the right side of his neck, up to his jaw and ear, looked angry and painful.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Patrick said, catching where Jonny was looking. “It’s just a wee stiff.”

“I might have something to help with that,” Jonny said. He still wasn’t used to seeing it on Patrick. The last time they parted ways, when they were eighteen, Patrick’s face had been white and unblemished. He didn’t know the whole story yet. He probably could if he sent a few choice owls out, but he’d rather wait for Patrick to tell him. He only knew that it’d happened while Patrick was on an assignment in Transylvania and that he’d been teaching arithmancy at Hogwarts even since. 

“Bloody curses,” Patrick said with a smile and a shrug when Jonny handed him a vial made mostly of aloe, mixed with fluxweed. “Thanks.”

“Sure. Anytime.”

His hand touched Patrick’s, left a smudge of soil over the back of it, and Jonny had to stop himself from reaching out and wiping it off. He took a step back, putting some distance between them so he wouldn’t get closer like he’d been wanting to for the past few weeks, unsure if it was appropriate or even if Patrick would want him to, but also because it _was_ bloody hot in here.

“Hey,” Pat said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes. “Let’s take a walk by the lake, at least it’s windy over there.”

It really felt like a breath of fresh air as soon as they stepped out of the greenhouse. Jonny inhaled deeply. The sun was high and the grounds green. The lake sparkled in the distance, and Jonny blinked in the brightness.

“Got all your lesson plans in order?” Patrick asked once they’d been walking for awhile in silence.

Jonny smiled. “Almost.” He couldn’t wait to get going, teach those kids about plant care, sure, but he’d devised a whole new part of the curriculum that would teach the students about the environment—about the work Jonny had been doing at the Ministry for the past few years. “I got a whole new crop of mandrakes that should be ready by Halloween. I can’t wait to see them.”

“Okay, you swot.”

Jonny pushed Patrick on the shoulder. “You’re one to talk, Professor Numbers.”

“Oh, good one, Toews. Still as witty as you ever were, I see. Besides, I’m a retired Curse-Breaker, the students think I’m the coolest teacher.”

“If only they knew…”

“I fought mummies, Jonathan. Mummies. All while you were busy parchment pushing at the Ministry.”

Jonny rolled his eyes. “I was fighting for a better planet. And I still am. Education’s important. The most important and—you’re having me on.”

Patrick laughed, eyes bright and blue and smile wide, dimples deep. The same smile and same laugh Jonny remembered from their time here. He was weak for all of it then, and it seemed still weak for it now, years later.

“Still so easy.” Patrick shook his head at him, eyes crinkling at the corners.

The castle stood tall behind him, its stone bright in the sun, its towers high. Jonny had missed this place, missed the greenhouses and being hands on in the dirt. Missed the quidditch pitch, and the great hall. 

And he might have realised only recently, but he’d missed Patrick too. 

They made it to the lake where they could see the tops of the Quidditch hoops past the hill on the other side. Patrick shielded his eyes with his hand and stared at them.

“Hufflepuff will need a new coach now that Professor Hemlock’s gone.”

“You’re looking at him,” Jonny said. He’d only heard back from the Headmaster that morning, an owl sent to the greenhouse with a message that said, _while I enjoyed the 3-feet long essay on why I should consider you to fill in the now-free Hufflepuff Quidditch coaching position, it was unnecessary as you are clearly the most qualified—and the only—candidate for it. It is my pleasure to welcome you to this school, and I hope this note won’t necessitate another 3-feet long response._

“Wicked.” Patrick’s face split into another one of his wide smiles. “Maybe Gryffindor will finally have some competition.”

“You mean, Gryffindor will finally see the end of its winning streak.”

Jonny was very aware that Patrick had lead his House to five cups since he’d started teaching at Hogwarts. He’d already gone over the different past rosters. And unless Patrick had changed the way he played the game since they were both students, Jonny had a good idea of what strategies he would use. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he was giddy at the thought of facing Patrick again on the field. Also, he liked winning. 

“Hufflepuff hasn’t won a cup in years,” Patrick said, facing him and crossing his arms.

“Yes, and who captained them to those cups again?”

Patrick narrowed his eyes at him. “Not this time, Toews.”

“Well I guess we’ll have to see, yeah?”

“All we’ll see is Gryffindor lift that cup for the sixth time.”

Jonny shook his head and smiled. He was so glad that Hogwarts had added coaches to its Quidditch teams since the last time he was here so they could do this again. They used to get into these arguments about Quidditch that would go on and on and on, and where Jonny never knew if he wanted to strangle Patrick or shag him senseless. But one thing was certain: it always made him want to be better, to prove himself. 

Some things really didn’t change.

And maybe that was enough, Jonny thought, this back and forth, this renewed friendship. Maybe what he felt was all nostalgia, all those memories flooding back to him since he’d set foot at Hogwarts again.

He knew deep down that it wasn’t like before. They had both changed and that was good, that was better, and, yes, maybe it should be enough.

So of course, because he was who he was, Patrick had to go and completely blindside him.

“Remember what we did in the changing rooms after the final our seventh year?” Patrick said, not looking at him.

Jonny’s stomach clenched, and he swallowed hard. He’d been thinking of that time a lot over the past few weeks, catching himself when he looked at Patrick, wondering how different he’d be now compared to then.

He didn’t know how to reply in a way that didn’t betray how well he remembered it. Patrick looked at him, at how stupid Jonny must be looking right now—he could feel the heat of the flush on the back of his neck—and smiled.

“Kiss me,” he said.

Jonny blinked. “What?”

“You should kiss me.”

Jonny was against him in one, two long steps, hand on his hip and the other on his jaw, and Patrick’s mouth was softer than he remembered.

He kissed just like before… except with less spit: sure and confident and impossible to ignore.

It took a while for Jonny to realise that his hand was digging a little into Patrick’s scar, but Patrick covered it with his own before he could remove it, saying, “It’s really okay,” against his lips, and Jonny used that moment to dip his tongue inside, to make it wet and filthy just like he’d been wanting to.

“I think we also did this in about the same spot, once,” Jonny said, pulling back to press his forehead against Patrick’s. “Not even ten minutes in and we’re already predictably boring.”

“You should be boring on my mouth some more,” Patrick said.

Kissing Patrick, it turned out, was even better when he realised that he could say, “you should come to my chambers later tonight,” right after. “I mean, If you want.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and straightened his robe, running a hand through his sweaty curls. “Moron.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, and I’ll see you in the Great Hall for supper,” Jonny said, walking backwards and smiling.

“Don’t forget to change!” Patrick yelled after him.

Jonny stopped just inside the door of the greenhouse. If anything, it had gotten stuffier, or at least it felt like it after being outside for a while. It was _wonderful_. 

He took out his wand and said, "Accio, list,” grabbing the parchment when it floated to him. Right. The mandrakes needed feeding, then the snargaluff outside needed pruning. He also really had to figure out what he could do with the surplus of bouncing bulbs seeds his predecessor had left behind. 

After all, September was only a few weeks away.

 

 


End file.
